Four Shots
by KitCat Italica
Summary: As Harvey Dent makes his way to the ambulance to interrogate Schiff, four shots are fired in the distance. Four shots that changed two lives forever.


Four Shots

Bruce had probably ducked just in time as the sniper's bullets ricocheted off the walls and telescope, narrowly missing his head. He crouched on the floor, pressed against the wall, waiting to see if more shots would be fired.

They were, but not from the source he expected. The sound of the final gun salute was late in coming, and when it finally pierced the air, all hell broke loose. Bruce could hear the crowd going wild, terror and panic spreading through the crowded street below. Although he hadn't seen what had just transpired, he knew in his gut what he had been fearing had come true. The Joker. The hostages, the guns and uniforms, the honor guard, the window timer…all meant to distract him, the Batman, so the mayor could be assassinated. Bruce could only hope they had missed their target. He hoped…

Then a new thought urgently entered his mind. If the Joker had finished with his plan on the streets, then sooner or later…he would be coming _back_, wouldn't he? The fiendishly clever psychopath wouldn't just leave the seven officers here to escape. They would be loose ends to tie up, and besides, according to his ultimatum, there had to be _somebody_ dying today. He had promised that to the decadent city yesterday, and probably intended to keep his promise.

_Stupid freak_, Bruce cursed silently at the madman. But, all anger aside, he had a job to do if he was to save the men tied around the pillar in the middle of the room. The question, however, was how to go about it without revealing who he was. Bruce Wayne appearing in a place that one would naturally assume the Batman to be in would certainly raise questions, and with the city clamoring for his identity to be exposed he couldn't afford to have anyone see him unmasked. He snuck a glance out the window, and the coast seemed clear; no one was bothering to pay attention to the apartment building, what with the havoc below. Quickly, he sprang to his feet and began untying the hostages.

"W-w-what are you doing?" one whimpered, obviously fearing the worst.

"Just run," came the feral reply. "Once you're free, just run."

xxx

The man with the eternal smile rounded the corner, dashing madly to the entrance to Randolph Apartments. His goons tailed after him, save for Schiff, who had been gunned down by the panicked cops. No one dared to double back for the lunatic, though. Not with the livid look on the boss's face.

The plan had failed. The mayor had been pushed out of the way at the last second. Even the Joker had missed the shot. The henchmen were still in shock from that fact, the truth unable to register in their heads with its stench of blasphemy. The Joker **NEVER** missed a shot. Ever. If he was going off on one of his wild shooting sprees, shots would be fired at random, yes. But if he _wanted_ to hit something, if it was part of a _plan_ – he never missed. Until today. Needless to say, the thugs kept at least a twenty-foot radius around their leader, as opposed to the usual ten.

Not bothering to open the door to the building, Joker blasted it off its hinges with the shotgun he had stolen from the mob-banker. His new favorite toy, it never left his side. Taking the stairs five at a time, he sprinted up to the fifteenth floor, his head filled with nothing but the pain that the men in 1502 would be enduring in the next twenty seconds. That and the bright red motorcycle that had been parked outside the building. It hadn't been there before when he'd left…could it be…?

No, no it couldn't. He knew his Bat, and bright red wasn't his style. If the Batman had a motorcycle (and who knows, he very well might have one by now), it would be all black, at least twice as big as the Harley parked outside, and armed with all sorts of weaponry and other dangerous high-tech paraphernalia. The thought of his enemy cruising the city streets on such a vehicle lessened his fury to a degree. He would kill to see that (a very real threat coming from him). He would kill to see the Batman, period. He just _had_, in fact, or at least had attempted to. But that alone would surely have lured his fellow freak out into the open. As he made his way down the hallway, he half-expected to see his foe at the other end, ready to take him down.

What he did not expect to see was his seven kidnappees running down the other end of the hall to the elevator, tearing off their gags and blindfolds along the way. He froze. His henchmen ran up behind him, having finally caught up, and once they, too, saw the men escaping, they tore past him to give chase, firing their pistols in a cacophony of disarray. The Joker, however, did not join them in their murderous intents. He remained rooted to the spot, staring at the man who had just left 1502. Tall, with brown hair, carefully-built muscles betraying themselves through the black leather of his motorcycle jacket. The man took stock of his surroundings, first looking left, towards the tangle of cops and crazies trying to kill each other, then right…

…and froze. His eyes widened.

There he was.

The man himself, dressed in a cop uniform, but the hat couldn't hide the few strands of dark green locks that trailed out from underneath. And there was no mistaking the scars, even without their famous ruby lipstick. And the eyes…the eyes that haunted his nightmares, his every waking thought. Murder and mirth lived in those eyes, side by side. And they were staring at his chin.

His chin…

Oh **fuck**.

He knew. He knew it all now. It wouldn't be long before the clown-disguised goons or news reporters and paparazzi showed up at his front door. Or maybe the murderer _himself_ would come, stalking him everywhere, forcing him to give up his pursuits as Batman under the threat of revealing him to the whole world. Forcing him to do anything, really. All sorts of blackmail options sprang to his mind, Alfred and Rachel appearing front and center. _How_ could he have let this happen?

Though, as pressing as the matter was to Bruce, he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the face that was staring back at him. Even though they were standing ten feet apart, it was as if they were face to face, nose to nose, engaged in a silent conversation only they were aware of. Nothing else in the world existed except for the other man. Both halves stared at each other, completing the whole. What whole that was exactly, Bruce wasn't sure, and he definitely didn't want to find out. Yet he couldn't pull away from the black hole of his arch-enemy's presence. And neither could Joker.

Suddenly, the Joker's eyes flicked towards something behind Bruce, and as he turned to follow his gaze he failed to notice as the clown silently raised his shotgun.

The shot was fired. The round hit its mark. The Joker never missed a shot.

The henchman was dead before he hit the floor, blood and brain matter blowing out of the holes in the front and back of his head, intermixed with the shrapnel of skull fragments. His weapon clattered to the floor, its shot towards the billionaire ended prematurely.

Bruce stared at the oozing corpse before him, then turned back to the murderer. The Joker stood with his shotgun still raised in the air, not having lowered it since shooting down one of his own. A surprisingly fierce blaze of possessiveness burned in his eyes. Slowly, Bruce nodded to him. The Joker nodded back. Bat and clown, hero and villain, heads and tails, acknowledged the other. They understood.

Bruce walked with purpose to the stairs, brushing past the Joker in his haste. His work here in the building was done. The Joker watched him go, then turned to his two remaining henchmen, with the only surviving hostage between them. They stood perplexed and utterly bewildered as to what had just happened between the boss and the man in the black jacket. Joker smiled at them.

All three bullets hit their targets. The shots echoed through the building, resounding through the conscience of Bruce Wayne. He hesitated for a split second, then closed his eyes, slipped his helmet over his head, and kicked the motorcycle to life, tearing down the road and never looking back.

* * *

**Phew, glad I got that off my chest. I was watching the movie on my iPod a few days ago and when I got to the part where Harvey's walking to the ambulance and the shots in the background and Bruce and Joker's whearabouts unknown...I just couldn't resist. ^.^**


End file.
